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The environmentalist,
a terminally conflicted
poet, plunged down-
eighty-six stories

But before he fell,
the words of his last-
ditch, earth activist's
had echoed hollow
in his head:

"The world, like a single melon
with a soft cyan rind,
Its tender sial pitted
under man's close'd mind

To hack/slice the peel
for mere precious vein's gleam
Using no anaesthesia
living flesh is demeaned.
'Neath tools of destruction
The azure sphere screams;
A cry o'er millennia
going unheard, it seems..."

no one heard his idealist splat
as he took Fifth Avenue into
his whirling embrace

Donna Fox


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